I like to be alone
buried deep down inside myself
safe and quiet
or trembling and loud
There is safety in numbers
and my number has always seemed to be one
I am so weary of this yearning to draw within
I feel like when I die I am going to cry
I am going to howl with the lack of vivid memories of others.
I hunger for these intimate secret moments with others
but limit them to pictures on a screen that I study for hours on end
sometimes watching people in action is not a interesting as watching them on film
I fall and fall again for my perfect idea of them
I turn them into art
I wonder if they would hate me for what I turn them into
or love me for the way I paint and my technique
would they fall for the way I see them too?
am I missing more art by creating?
and not admiring the art?
I don’t want to miss a thing
and life drives by too fast
I want to pause
I don’t want to die
I don’t want to live
I want to create
I want to make beautiful things out of trash
recycle the maleficent into aesthetics
I want to forget and create
I want to understand and appreciate
there are too many me’s
are my eyes big enough?
my hears sharp?
I don’t want to be a waste
I want to want enough
CAN ONE WANT TOO MUCH?
I sigh myself into exhaustion
stare at my reflection with intent
We aren’t going to fuck this up
we are going to live life
we aren’t fuck ups
we are artist
I envy God
If only for a second I could experience that great madness
if it was my ideal madness
infinity would be slow
Drinking in every detail
drunk on experience
high on touch
Life would be hyper aware
Does God sit and love ?
Sit and obsess over perfect details
fall in love with it’s own thoughts
delicious cruel art?
The answers are in passing moments
that will come and go
I want to stay
count all my precious darlings
like it is enough
like I am not beginning